


Blade of Green

by absolutelyamethyst



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Amnesia, Eventual Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, F/F, Gen, Memory Loss, More tags to come!, OC-centric, badass Time Lords, cute idiots though, ethics and politics, mostly OCs, spoilers won't be tagged, the ship isn't the point of the fic though, yaz and the doctor are oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutelyamethyst/pseuds/absolutelyamethyst
Summary: They're not cowards. they're not. they're Time Lords.But the Time War comes and they're not too keen on dying. so they run. and they hide.Decades later, the Ember wakes up and sets out to find her friends.They don't mean to find the Doctor, but of course, it happens anyway.Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Counting Stars

Chapter One: Counting Stars

She makes it a week before she decides her next move. 

Ryan and Graham are different. _They_ move on. _They_ go back to the way things were--not that they ever could, she knows. Not that they could ever just...forget what happened, forget what they’ve _seen._

She muddles around for one week before she decides enough is enough. She muddles around for one week _more_ before she gets a plan together, sets out...and realizes she has no idea what she’s doing. 

The Doctor is gone--just _gone,_ no word, no explanation, no nothing. Gone. 

Yaz misses her. A lot. 

Because it’s different without her. Different in little and big ways. Different in how when she walks into a room (that isn’t the TARDIS, and that’s another story, normal houses are _boring)_ there’s not the Doctor whizzing around the TARDIS’ console, pushing buttons and pulling at creaking, groaning levers, mumbling to herself.

The Doctor, with her short blonde hair that’s always falling into her hazel eyes, with her nose that wrinkles when she smiles big and bright. The Doctor with her secrets. 

What Yaz would _give_ to see her again, be in the TARDIS again, be _somewhere else_ again. She’d give a lot, actually. Maybe too much. As if anything could actually match up to-

She stops, runs her hand over her face, and slumps down on the couch, shuffles her feet over the carpet. Leans back, groans. 

Her phone buzzes. Another text from Sonya, maybe, or Ryan, but probably not Graham. She doesn’t move to grab it, doesn’t move at all. 

  
The Doctor is gone and she’s just sitting here, uselessly pining for someone that could be any _where_ , any _time_ . _Literally._ Or--

No. She won’t think about that. She can’t.

The Doctor’s old, she knows that. So the Doctor’s...had other companions, probably, maybe. Finding them...finding them would be impossible, right? 

Right, yes, definitely. She definitely shouldn’t spend any time whatsoever trying to research the Doctor and her old companions. That’ll definitely...get...her nowhere…

Her phone buzzes again, but this time Yaz does look at it--looks at it long enough to mute it, tosses it under a pillow and grabs her laptop instead, sets to work with her computer in hand and her fingers flying across the keys. 

~

_Miles and miles and miles away there’s a silver pot steaming hot, full to the brim with coffee that’s foaming, freshly brewed. A girl with fierce red hair is working behind the counter of a bustling shop, tired and yawning as she pours her twentieth cup, half an hour gone by and her shift still not done._

_She looks up. Is somewhere else, for a moment, a migraine building behind her eyes but she blinks it away, the pain dissipating, her heart stammering in her chest as she does her job, smiles and starts taking another order, another._

_She blinks again. Something is_ wrong. 

~

She meets with Ryan, eventually. Graham doesn’t come. Ryan doesn’t say why. 

And they talk about things--small talk, how the weather’s been, how their jobs are going. Getting _them_ back was easy. Getting back everything else? Less so. 

Yaz hates it. Hates all of it. 

Hates how easy she slips into being just “Yaz” again. 

And Ryan? Ryan doesn’t seem to notice anything at all. 

They get around to the subject of the Doctor eventually. All roads lead there in Yaz’s mind. It’s the last thing Ryan wants to talk about, apparently, because he’s all small talk and clipped words until she sets the topic down and waits for his response. 

She’s tired of skirting around things.

“Maybe she’s just...on vacation or something,” Ryan says, “she did almost die, last time.” 

Yaz stares at him. “On vacation?” She repeats, “without us? She’d be bored, she wouldn’t last a day!”

Ryan shrugs. _Shrugs._ Like he doesn’t care. But he has to. This is _the Doctor_ they’re talking about.

“I think something’s wrong,” Yaz murmurs, pressing, “I think she’s in trouble.” 

“You can’t know that for sure though,” says Ryan, “we’ve seen her get out of trouble before.”

“It’s not like her to just leave like this, abandon us.” Yaz shoots back. “Abandon…” 

He stares at her. She looks away, face going hot.

“She could be anywhere,” she whispers. 

Ryan frowns, tilts his head, nods. “She’ll be back,” he says, sipping his coffee. He focuses on his mug for a second, then looks back up at her, uneasy. “Yaz,” he says, slowly. 

She just stares at him. 

“Don’t be daft.” He says it almost sternly, kindly, like he’s worried about her. 

And she’s touched. Really and truly, she is. “I--Ryan,” 

“ _Yaz,_ ” he pleads, “please--”

“I have to go.” She stands up, grabs her cup and her jacket and her phone and she brings everything together in a frenzy, her jacket on wrong and her phone nearly slipping out of her hand as she rushes away, rushes _out._

“At least get someone to help you,” Ryan says. 

Yaz’s temper _flares._ “And you won’t?” 

He huffs, wrinkling in on himself, gaze shifting to the floor. “Someone has to keep watch here.” 

_Coward,_ Yaz thinks, but it’s not all venom. She’d die before she’d let something happen to Ryan or Graham. “Right,” she says, bluster gone. She flips her jacket around, smooths out the wrinkles. “See you ‘round.” 

“See you,” he says, that sadness in his eyes again. He watches her go. 

She waves at him one more time, just before rounding the corner, _just in case._

~

_“You okay, Ciara? You seem sort of...off.”_

_She jumps, immediately freezes so that maybe it’ll seem like her boss didn’t just scare the crap at her, and looks up. Abigail Haven is a tall-ish woman, graying hair and bright green eyes. She looks like a boss--has the stern, practiced look to match her title--but she’s kind too, patient._

_Patient is good._

_“I’m alright,” she says, forcing a small smile. “Just tired is all.”_

_“Kids these days,” Abigail huffs, “staying up ‘til all hours of the night. Why would you stay up late when you have a morning shift the next day?”_

_“Spite,” Ciara answers, smile pulling into a bigger grin, genuine this time. “I’m fine, I promise.”_

_Abigail chuckles, walks away and starts taking an order. The cafe really is busy today, Ciara thinks, everyone bustling in and out before heading back out into the city._

_She’s...she’s stuck here, in these tiny four walls, with nothing to do but shuffle ice through plastic and steam through piping hot metal._

_Seven hours left, she knows, and she glances at the clock between orders, counts the seconds down from fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six…_

_~_

There’s someone on her doorstep. 

And normally, Yaz would be better about handling these things--she’s a police officer, after all--but something about the woman on her doorstep scares Yaz. Her stance is solid, tight, as she leans against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing a suit of sorts, a thin thing that hugs her waist and all her curves. She’s pretty, in a terrifying way--

“Are you Yasmin Khan?” 

Oh. _Oh._

“Maybe,” Yaz says, slowly walking up to the door. “Who’s asking?” 

“Martha Jones.” The woman steps forward, brushes a curl over one ear and holds out an official-looking badge. “I’m looking for--” she takes the badge away. 

“Stop that,” Yaz snaps, blinking, “the badge--show me the badge again.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Easy thing, that--trying to trick me into believing you are who you say you are. Show me the badge.” 

The woman blinks. 

“The _badge,_ ” Yaz says, and the woman procures it, a wicked gleam in her eyes. 

“You’re smart,” she says, “it’s a bit outdated, but it’s all right here.”

“Martha Jones.” Yaz reads, then frowns. ‘With UNIT? I’ve never heard of--” Wait, no, that’s wrong. The Doctor had mentioned a UNIT once, but back then she’d said it had vanished--gone broke, maybe, or just disappeared. “What is UNIT?” She asks. 

“Military,” Martha says, “we were protecting the world.” Her lips twist. “Do you mind if I come inside?” 

“Oh- course.” Yaz fumbles through her pockets for her keys, grabs them, fumbles more when she has to reach up and unlock her door. She’s nervous. This woman knows things and she’s nervous because she’s close, closer than she’s been in weeks. 

Why here--why now?

“So, you worked with UNIT.” Yaz busies herself with tidying up, even as Martha stands chuckling behind her. “You’re military?” 

“I’m a doctor, actually, and no- I worked _for_ UNIT, for a while. Before they went under.” Her words are clipped, at the end. Sad. 

Yaz winces. “Coffee?” She asks, finishing rearranging the pillows on the sofa. “Tea?” 

“Coffee,” Martha nods, smiles. “Thanks.” 

Yaz flicks on the lights, rummages through the cabinets, grimaces at the dust on absolutely everything. Dust on all her mugs--who’d want to drink from a dusty mug? 

It’ll be fine--she’ll clean it up, Martha won’t see, won’t know--

“You know, I knew the Doctor, once,” Martha says, and Yaz simultaneously stumbles, nearly dropping the mug and milk in her hand with a scream that’s warbled and shriekling all at once. 

“You _what?_ ”

“He was different then,” she continues, “he was- well, a _man,_ for starters. And he was…” She trails off. Confused, Yaz turns, the coffee pot bubbling away happily behind her, and finds Martha staring off into the distance, her expression caught between joy and deep sadness. “Point is, the Doctor is different now,” she says, blinking, “and you’re one of her companions.” 

Yaz’s throat goes dry. “How did you-”

“UNIT was about more than just protecting the earth. It--we researched, protected humanity from alien invasions and assassinations and all sorts of things you don’t even _know_ about. And they tracked the Doctor--had been for _years._ And his companions.” 

“And they--you--knew about me?” 

“And your friends,” Martha nods. “Ryan and Graham.”

She’s--it’s all a lot and if Yaz is honest she’s not sure what to think. 

The coffee finishes and Yaz pours two mugs, turns. “Milk? Sugar?” 

“No, thanks.” 

Yaz fixes hers and passes Martha’s mug into her waiting hands, sits down. Blows the steam across the cup and waits, staring into its murky depths. “I don’t like this,” she says. “Been in enough trouble already, don’t like the idea of someone out there knowing who I am, where I’ve been.”

“UNIT is gone,” Martha says. “Their files are still around, though, and so are their systems.” 

“So?” 

“So, three weeks ago the Doctor just...disappeared. The Doctor _doesn’t disappear._ Something happened, Yasmin--”

“I go by Yaz, actually.”

“--Yaz, and I need to know what.” 

Right, there it is. The unfortunate truth. “I don’t know what happened to her,” she says. “We… we got caught up in something. She dropped us off, went to go find her TARDIS. I haven’t seen her since.” 

“The TARDIS?” Martha’s eyes light up. “She left it--where is it?” 

“Not a clue.”

“Good, that’s good,” Martha mutters, setting her coffee mug down on the table. She pulls the bookbag at her hip forward, rummages through its contents until she comes up with a smallish laptop, opens it and starts typing. 

“What are you doing?” Yaz asks. 

“Tracking the TARDIS,” Martha answers. 

“Just like that?” Yaz grits her teeth, inches closer. “How?” 

_That_ earns her a look. “If I tell you, will you understand it?” Martha asks. 

Yaz goes pink. “Probably not.” 

“Then it’s not worth explaining.” An irritated puff buzzes Martha’s lips. _“I_ barely understand it.” 

“Then how do you know--”

“Old friend taught me.” Her computer whirs, dings softly as a program starts and runs, the screen turning gray, pink, blue as it sits there, humming contentedly. “We should get a ping… now!” 

The laptop dings loudly, and even though Yaz is expecting it she jumps anyway--much to Martha’s amusement. 

“She parked the TARDIS in the middle of nowhere,” Martha mumbles, “wonder why?”

“She probably had a reason,” Yaz begins, defensive. 

“But didn’t tell anyone else, very ‘Doctor’ of her.” Martha shoots back. 

Yaz glares. 

“Sorry,” Martha winces, sitting back, her lips twisting into a puzzled frown. “It’s just--it’s been years since I’ve been in this. I thought I’d be more excited to see the Doctor again, but really… It’s all sort of overwhelming.” 

“You were planning on coming with me?” 

“I was.” But now Martha’s uneasy, Yaz can see it in her eyes. “It’s not--you’re the Doctor’s companion now,” she says, “I’m not part of the story.” 

There’s a sourness to her words that Yaz can’t place and she _doesn’t like it,_ doesn’t like the way Martha’s words ring of a bitterness unhealed, a pain untempered and a void unfulfilled. 

“How long were you with the Doctor?” She asks. “Did you...end on good terms?” 

But that just makes Martha scowl deeper. “Coordinates,” she says, procuring a pen and paper from absolutely nowhere, scribbling something down just as fast. “The TARDIS should be here, Yaz. Find the Doctor, and Yaz--”

“Yes?” 

“Make sure she’s safe. And _don’t leave her again._ Stay with her. Someone has to.” 

~

_“Ask me again before you agree to cover Lila’s double shifts,” Abigail says, mumbling--cursing--under her breath as Ciara moves to grab a muffin crumb from underneath the table. “You’re working too much, Ciara.”_

_Ciara snorts. “No, I’m not.”_

_“Every day this week, twelve hours.” Abigail crosses the room so fast Ciara barely has time to blink. “I’m worried about you--”_

_“I’m an adult, Abigail--”_

_“And the daughter of my best friend.” Abigail’s eyes grow warm. “I care about you, Ciara. Can’t you see that?”_

_“Dishes need washing,” Ciara mumbles, stepping away from her, broom and dust-pan in hand._

_Abigail nods, starts mumbling again._

_There’s a face in the window._

_Ciara freezes when she sees it, bumps the broom against the wall and leans the broom and dust-pan there, unlocks the door. The alarm chimes, and even though Abigail looks, she doesn’t say anything. The night air is cold._

_But when Ciara looks again, the face is gone._

_“I’ll take out the trash,” Ciara calls out, eyeing the garbage bags waiting by the door. “Be back in a sec.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I know you’re out here,” Ciara whispers as soon as the door shuts. “You can come out.”_

_“You’re quick,” a soft voice says. “Your boss didn’t see me.”_

_“We’re closed,” Ciara says, stepping around the corner. “We--wait, weren’t you in the cafe earlier?” Soft brown hair, wavy, glasses black and thin-rimmed. Shorter than she is, and thinner. Her skin’s brownish, but the lights overhead make her whole body look like she’s glowing gold. “You’re the pumpkin girl,” she sighs, irritated. “D’you want something?”_

_“Pumpkin girl?” The girl’s eyebrows knit together. “You remembered my order?”_

_“You ordered a pumpkin spice latte, iced, no whipped cream.”_

_“What’s wrong with that?”_

_“It’s_ June. _”_

_The girl snorts. “You’re- what’s your name?”_

_“What do you want?” Ciara asks again, startled. “You can’t just go around asking strangers random questions!”_

_“You really don’t remember,” the girl murmurs, “man, that’s wild.”_

_“Have we met before?”_

_The girl grins. “We’ve...met.”_

_Cryptic. Ciara sighs. “Whatever. I’m taking out the trash.”_

_“You ever think about things--wish things were different?”_

_The dumpster lid is skewed as Ciara reaches to open it, tugs the distended bag over the edge and pushes it into the void._

_It smells._

_“Things. What things?”_

_“Life,” the stranger says. “Things. Wishing you were somewhere different--something more.”_

_Ciara’s heart skips a beat. “Doesn’t everyone wish something like that, at some point?”_

_“Probably.” The girl steps closer. There’s something in her eyes--a sad something, wistful. “But they’re not like us.”_

_“I’ve never met you,” Ciara says. “I don’t know you.”_

_“Not in this life.” The stranger’s lips curl into a tiny smirk. “But you and me? We go wayyy back. You know me.”_

_“I’ve never met you,” Ciara repeats, tensing. “I don’t even know your name.”_

_“Names,” the girl chuckles. “Mine’s the Ember. You can just call me Ember. The ‘the’ part will make sense later.” she frowns. “Maybe. Probably. Anyway, come with me-”_

_“No.”_

_“What?”_

_“I’m busy,” Cira snorts, “and besides. It’s like I told you. We’ve never met.”_

_“What do I have to do to--damn, never mind. Are you sure you don’t remember anything, nothing at all?”_

_“Bye.”_

_The stranger groans. “Don’t just--stop walking away! This is important!”_

_“Byeee!”_

_~_

Leave it to the Doctor to drop her TARDIS in the middle of nowhere. 

The device Martha left her--paper first, then she’d realized that probably wasn’t helpful--dings softly as Yaz pads across the beaten mountain path. There are trees everywhere--big, massive ones, thicker and wider than Yaz could grasp. 

It’s pretty here, really. Isolated and sort of desolate, but gorgeous all the same. 

And there, in the midst of it all, in a swathe of silver fog and greenery, is the TARDIS. 

And it’s pretty too. 

There’s a sound in her head when she walks up, a sort of soft clanging, a gentle sound that’s summoning and expectant all at once. 

It’s the TARDIS. She’s not sure how she knows, but she does, and she’s not scared, exactly, but the instinct is...strange. 

“Hello,” she says, walking up to it, placing her hand on the wooden door. “Mind letting me in?” 

Silence. 

“Please,” says Yaz. Talking to it feels strange. The TARDIS is, well, just a box, but she’s seen enough to know that it’s more than that, that it can hear and be and feel more than she’d first assumed. “Hey-- _please._ Bit urgent here.” 

Still, just silence. 

“The Doctor is missing,” Yaz says, her voice shaking. “She’s missing and I’m trying to get her back but _I can’t do it on my own._ I need help. I need _your_ help.” 

A creak. Might just be the wind, but maybe not.

“Please,” Yaz pleads again, dropping the device in her hand so she can put both hands flat against the TARDIS’ doors. She tilts her head against the wood, the cracked paint sharp in places, the whole of it warm and inviting and _strong,_ full of energy and life and full of memory. 

Yaz misses the Doctor. 

She’s always loved traveling, always loved seeing new places and meeting new people but the Doctor was _different,_ traveling with her was different. She misses it. She misses the Doctor. The Doctor, she--

_Love,_ says the TARDIS, kindly. _Find the Doctor. Love the Doctor. Protect the Doctor._

And Yaz smiles. “Yeah,” she says, “I think I can do that.”

The doors open. 

Everything is just like Yaz remembers it, but the whole console room is quieter now, empty of the energy the Doctor brings. The silence takes Yaz’s heart and twists it around until she’s crying, tears falling down her face as she as places her hands palms down on the console. 

_Find the Doctor,_ the TARDIS reminds her, gently, softly. 

“Right,” Yaz says, brushing the tears from her eyes. “D’you have any idea where to start?”

_Judoon._

“Those- those _rhino_ things from Gloucester? What do they want with the Doctor?” 

_Judoon._

“Right, you mentioned that.” Yaz thumps the console. “Can you...fly yourself?” 

_Fly._

“I don’t know how to fly you,” Yaz snorts, “you’re…”

An image appears in her head. Then another. Buttons and levers--that’s all they are to Yaz but she pushes and pulls and the TARDIS _moves,_ lifts on the ground and soars to--well, wherever they’re going. 

They fly. Together. 

“I’ll never say a mean thing about you again, that’s a promise,” Yaz says. “Even when you shake us up while flyin’--”

_Not my fault._

“Right.” Yaz grins. “The Doctor doesn’t know how to fly you either?” 

Her response is more of a feeling than a word. Amusement, a ripple of violet in Yaz’s mind. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her you said that.”

_She knows._

Their landing is bumpy. 

Landing. 

Destination. 

She’s _here._

“Where is here?” Yaz asks, and one of the smaller side screens flashes, words in a language Yaz can’t understand. 

_Judoon prison._ The TARDIS helps. _Quick escape._

“A prison?” Yaz’s stomach _plummets._ “I can’t just--God, how am I supposed to break the Doctor out of a _prison?_ ” 

_Quick escape._

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but how-”

The doors open. 

“I can’t believe it.” 

It’s--

“You actually did it.” 

“Doctor,” Yaz breathes, crying again, hands clapping over her mouth. “How--”

“You landed right in my cell!” The Doctor exclaims, rushing inside, the doors slamming shut. She traces one hand over the wall, exuberant. “Yaz, you’re amazing! How’d you do it? Who else is with you?” 

“No one,” Yaz says, then frowns. “Well, I had a little help.” 

“From who? Where are--” 

“Old friend of yours.” Yaz interrupts her, stepping forward, twisting her hands together with a smile. “Said her name was Martha.” 

“Martha Jones,” says the Doctor, blinking. “Oh, I owe her a visit.” 

“I owe her a lot more than that,” Yaz says. “I missed you, Doctor.” 

She can’t read the light in the Doctor’s eyes, can’t place the expression on her face. It’s torn, a mix of happiness and sadness, confusion and chaos. “I missed you too,” she says, finally, touching the console. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ready,” Yaz says, bumping against the Doctor’s shoulder. 

“And on the way, you can tell me why Ryan and Graham aren’t with you.” The Doctor says. “Goin’ to have a word with those boys.”

Yaz winces. “About that--”

They take off. 

Neither of them look back. 

_They really should have._

~

_“I know you. You don’t look the same, you don’t even feel the same, but I know you’re in there. I can sense it.”_

_The girl is still behind her as Ciara opens the door, half a step inside._

_“I’m the Ember, you’re the Jade. We named ourselves after earth rocks--well, you did. You were always the clever one. I was the spark, the one with the temper.”_

_“Jade’s a terrible name, that’s stupid--ow--” The Jade. The Jade. The Jade._

_The name pounds in her head and sets her whole body trembling, her heart racing in her chest. Her palms go sweaty. She can_ feel _the color drain from her face as she wobbles, heel of her hand moving to massage the sudden headache pounding behind her eyes._

_“Ciara?” Abigail calls, concern in her voice. “Ciara, are you okay? Hey--hey!”_

_But the pain drowns out everything, blurs away the whole world. Ciara can see Abigail running toward her, see the cafe tilting, the ceiling flashing before her eyes as she collapses. Then the stranger, the girl, the Ember comes into view, catches her--she’s fast, faster than she looks--and Ciara is just…_

_“Who are you? Get away from her!”_

_“She’s coming with me,” the Ember snarls, picking Ciara up, helping her walk. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her from here.”_

_You can’t take her! She’s--she’s supposed to work in the morning!”_

_“Then find someone else!” the Ember screams back. “Jade--Ciara, listen. You have to have--ah, here!”_

_The locket--she reaches up and curls a finger around the chain of Ciara’s locket, grasps it, grabs Ciara’s hand and places the locket into her palm._

_“Can you hear it?” She asks. “Hear anything at all?”_

_There’s nothing, for a moment, then, like a whisper, a heartbeat, somehow wrong and somehow right, all in the same moment._

_A heartbeat._ Two _heartbeats._

_“Heartbeats,” Ciara whispers, her head lolling._

_“Yes, that’s it.” The Ember says. “Good. Good good good. Oh, there’s so much I wanna tell you but--”_

_The sound overtakes everything, fuels Ciara’s headache until her head is absolutely_ screaming _._

“You should rest now,” the Ember says. “More to explain later.” 

Everything goes dark. 

~

Ember opens the door to her TARDIS, props her old friend up safely on a chair. Relaxes, for the first time in a while. 

“Found you,” she says, grinning down at the sleeping Time Lord. “What did that woman call you again? Ciara. Ciara.” The name tastes funny on her tongue. “Well, that’s what I’ll call you for now. Feels weird. You’ll always be Jade to me.” 

She turns toward the console, pulls at the levers until the whole ship vibrates and starts to fly. Glances back down at Jade--at Ciara. 

“Right,” she says, humming, “One down, three more to go.”

~


	2. Sunrise/Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciara wakes up and is confronted by the truth--some of it easy to believe, some of it... not so much.

_ She’s on a beach on the eastern side of Florida, her toes in the sand. She’s holding her locket in her hands.  _

_She’s seven years old again. The locket is from her grandmother, the woman whose face she can’t remember._ _Can’t remember. She tries, can’t place a face, can’t hear her voice._

_ The first memory she has is...strange, somehow, blurred. It feels wrong, but it’s still...clear, in a way. She can’t focus on it. It gets fuzzy if she tries.  _

_ She’s never thought about opening it before, because it’s always been...stuck, the two pieces pressed together, immovable. But now it’s different. Things are different. She came here to run away from the voices in her head but they followed, and now… now she has no choice.  _

_ There’s a sky above her, and it must be getting dark because it’s still half blue but the other half is copper-colored, but she’s not sure how she knows that and the images change before she really has a chance to think. _

_ Orange sky.  _

_ Red grass.  _

_ She’s-- _

_ Home-- _

She wakes up.

“Hey,” the girl from before greets her, arms crossed over her chest. “Sleep well?” 

Ciara blinks, her heart sinking as she recognizes the stranger--she’s still here, still pestering. “Nope. I...” She trails off, not exactly sure how to describe everything she was just seeing--and feeling.

“Oh, were you dreaming?” the Ember asks, and Ciara nearly flinches, miserably confused. “Happens. It’s wearing off.” 

“... _ what’s  _ wearing off?” 

“Th--the thing,” the Ember says, her lips twisting into a frown. “Can’t remember what it’s called. I…” her gaze goes vacant, distant. “Sorry, that’s not helpful.”

It isn’t, it really isn’t, but Ciara sits up and looks around anyway, before realizing that the cryptic stranger in front of her is the absolute least of her problems. “Where the _hell_ am I? You kidnapped me!” 

“Relax! We haven’t left earth--”

“We haven’t left  _ what?” _

“--’s atmosphere,” the Ember says, wincing. “It’s just--we’re--” she sighs, grimaces. “Look--proper introductions. Call me Ember. You’re...Ciara.” She fumbles over Ciara’s name--Ciara can actually  _ hear  _ her stuttering over it--and then turns to the console...thing behind her. “This is my TARDIS.” 

“Your  _ what _ ?” 

“TARDIS,” Ember says again, slowly. “Time ship. Space...ship. Can go anywhere, any time. Not right now, though. We’re on a mission.” 

Ciara blinks. “ _ We? _ ”

“I found you, now I have to find the others--there’s three left, all of them spread out around earth. Scythe’s probably in London somewhere, he always did like London--” 

_ Scythe.  _ The name sends a painful jolt through her temple, and she stands up, winces, shuts her eyes as the pain goes away and her stomach twists. She has to get out, get away.  _ This girl is insane. All of this is insane.  _

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ember whispers, but she doesn’t move from her spot by the console. “Ja-- _ Ciara--” _

The door’s easy enough to unlock. It just--

\--it just moves _,_ unlocks like any normal door, except that when it does it swings outward to reveal nothing. Nothing but a big black empty void filled with stars. Nothing but stars for miles and _miles_ until they’re all that she can see. 

Ciara’s jaw drops _.  _

That’s definitely not  _ normal. _

“Well,” Ember mutters, “I did say we hadn’t left the atmosphere.” 

Ciara curses. There’s emptiness all around her and it’s terrifying and big and--well, a  _ void,  _ but she steps forward with her arms pressed tight to the walls on either side, looks out, watching the stars. 

Space is terrifying and incredibly beautiful all at once. 

It’s too much. She’s shaking as she pulls back, the urge to run thrumming in every muscle. 

“It’s like I said before, Ciara,  _ I know you, _ ” Ember says. “If I’d kept us on earth you would’ve opened the door and run away before giving me the chance to explain things.” 

“Explain things,” Ciara repeats, her lip curling. “You want to explain this?” She waves her arms around, takes a step toward the console and leans against it. “We’re in a spaceship. Above earth. In  _ space.” _

“So what? Gods, doesn’t take much to shock you, does it?” 

“An hour ago I was in DC!”

Ember waves her hand. “DC. DC is boring. I can take you to different planets! Space malls--space  _ shopping!  _ Gallifrey! We could go home.”

_ Gallifrey.  _

  
  


“I hate shopping,” Ciara mumbles, rubbing at her temple, wishing that the headache blooming at the base of her neck would disappear, wishing that Ember would start making sense.

But Ember just chuckles, oblivious. “I know. You always have.” 

“Stop doing that,” Ciara hisses, scowling. “Stop acting like you know me.” 

“I do know you,” says Ember, staring straight at her. She tilts her head, smiles a small smile. “I’ve known you for a long, long time, Ciara.” 

“I’ve never met you,” Ciara says, but the moment she says it her stomach twists, anxiety curling in her chest, and she wonders if it’s true, because it doesn’t feel like it at all.

_ I know you. _

_...right? _

Ember shrugs. She opens her mouth, then stops and bites her lip, expression shifting. When she looks back up at Ciara, she looks...worried. “Ciara, I can explain things, but you’re not going to believe me.” 

“What…” 

“The thing is...you’re gonna have to,” Ember continues, turning back toward the console, her left hand frozen over one of the big gold buttons. “‘Cause sooner or later, the-- _damn it,_ what’s it called? Nevermind-- _it’s_ gonna run out and trust me, you don’t want to know how that feels. Like regeneration, but _worse._ ”

_ Regeneration.  _

_ Orange sky.  _

_ Gallifrey. _

The world tilts sideways. 

Ciara leans backward, her arms grabbing for something to fall back on, finds a chair underneath her and wonders for the briefest of moments where it came from,  _ was it there before?  _

_ Before…  _

Her head aches _.  _

“Breathe, Ciara.” Ember’s suddenly at Ciara’s side, easing her backward so that her head’s against the wall, snatching away the tangles of bright hair that fall into her eyes. “Breathe. Give yourself a second.” 

“Head hurts,” Ciara whispers, hating herself for sounding so  _ small.  _

“I know.” Ciara looks up and Ember’s frowning, her eyes pinched at the corners, her expression sad, pitying. “It’ll be over in a sec.” 

She’s silent then, and Ciara shuts her eyes. Her head aches and her locket is hot against her sternum. If she focuses, she can hear it again--the sound she’d heard before she’d passed out. The sound of two hearts beating steady, strong. 

“You’ve never liked crying in front of me,” Ember says softly, breaking the silence. 

Ciara’s hand flies to her cheek just as a tear falls down. She cups it against her skin, eyes narrowing. “Sorry--”

“You don’t have to be.” Ember backs up. “I just--” She sighs. “I dunno how to start.”

“Start?” 

“Explaining things,” Ember says, “‘cause it’s a long story, and when I first started remembering… I thought I was going insane. I opened my locket by accident.” 

Ciara’s whole body goes cold. “Your...locket?” 

“This thing.” Ember’s thin fingers snatch at the silver chain on her neck. She reaches up and undoes the clasp, then twirls the chain, charm and all, through the air and catches it in her palm. “It had all my memories in it,” she says. “All my real memories, I mean. Of who I was before.” 

“Your memories were inside a locket?” 

“Yep,” Ember says, popping the ‘p’. 

“Who put them there?” 

“Ahh--” Ember winces, then snorts, shakes her head. “That’s--I put them there. Turned myself human. Had to hide.” 

The pain in her head subsides, just a little, and Ciara leans forward, frowns. “You’re not making any sense.” 

“I told you, I don’t know how to explain this.” Ember clenches her jaw. “It’s all still so jumbled. Nothing makes sense. I’m not…” She trails off with a wince. “ _ I  _ barely know who I am. Woke up, remembered, and just knew I had to find you.” 

Ciara nods, not sure how to take that. Then she pulls her own locket into her hand. “They’re the same.” Nearly identical except for the color, small and round, flat on the side with the weird circles etched on the surface. 

“Well yeah, they would be. Chameleon Arch does tha-- _ oh!  _ That’s what it’s called! Good brain, always thinking.” 

“Chameleon Arch?” 

“Rewrites DNA. It turned us human, let us hide.” 

A now-familiar cold flares in Ciara’s chest. “ _ Us? _ ”

“We’re not human. None of us. You, me, Scythe, Sage, and Stele--we escaped Gallifrey and the Time War. They asked us to die, we chose to live.”

_ Scythe.  _

_ Stele.  _

“We came to earth. Been here ten years. But it’s all fading now, and soon... “

_ Sage.  _

Ciara places a hand over her chest. Her heart beats fast beneath her palm, and her shirt sticks to her hand as she pulls it away, wipes the sweat off on her jeans. “I’m human.” 

“You are  _ now.  _ But our species--back home on Gallifrey, we’re different. Different biology. Two hearts. And you and I, we’re called Time Lords. We--ahh, I did it again, didn’t I? Ciara, just--”

“Stop,” Ciara snarls, curling forward as the pain comes again, the headache going all the way down her neck and into her shoulders. “Just stop.” 

It’s too much, all of it. 

Everything burns and Ciara squeezes her eyes shut, waits for unconsciousness to come and take everything away. 

Except it doesn’t come. She just...hurts. 

_ Time Lord.  _

“This would be easier if you’d just open the locket,” Ember murmurs. “You’d start remembering--really remembering. It would stop hurting.” 

Something’s holding her back. 

She’s not sure she has a reason  _ not  _ to believe Ember, really. She wouldn’t, except that a second ago she opened a door and saw nothing but stars _.  _ This is a spaceship. And she’s--an hour ago she wouldn’t have believed in spaceships and stars within her reach but now everything’s changed and her head is spinning and she’s just...

She’s human. Right?

_ Right?  _

“You believe me, don’t you?” Ember asks. “Cause I promise you, Ciara--I’m not lying. I’d never do that.”

_ That’s exactly what a liar would say,  _ Ciara thinks, but she smothers the thought almost instantly.

“Just open the locket, Ciara.” 

“I can’t.” Ciara looks up at her, wincing, her hand grabbing the locket tight. “I’m sorry. I just… it doesn’t feel right. I  _ can’t _ .” 

The chain breaks. 

And Ciara gasps as the locket falls in her lap, the chain slipping through its loop and falling to the floor with a soft clink. The broken half of the charm--the burned half, the one scorched by a fire she can’t remember--comes face up on her jeans. She just...stares at it, traces a thumb over the circular pattern on its face. 

“It’s broken,” Ember mumbles, her voice trembling. “Oh... _ oh,  _ that’s not supposed to happen.” 

“There was a fire,” Ciara says slowly, the memories muddled. “I was fourteen. I’ve always had the locket. It was an heirloom. My grandmother’s.” 

Ember’s gaze is absolutely  _ cold  _ when she looks at Ciara. “You really believe that?” 

“I know my own family,” Ciara snaps back. 

“Really? Then what were their names? What did they look like? How old were your parents? When did they get married?” 

“I...I don’t--” It’s too many questions, she can’t--

Everything’s fuzzy--

“If they’re really your family, you have to know all that,” Ember says, stepping backward. “Your memories are fake and I can prove it, Ciara--you can’t really remember any of that, can you? You’ve never been able to. All your life, you’ve never been able to recall anything about where you come from.” 

“You-”

“Broken,” Ember whispers, still staring at the locket. “Burned. Jade, you clumsy idiot.” 

_ Jade.  _

“My name’s Ciara,” Ciara says, massaging away another headache, and Ember just sighs. 

“You’re so stubborn,” she mumbles, grumbling as she walks back over to the console. “Well, guess we’re off.” 

“That’s it?” Ciara’s eyes widen. “You’re just...dropping me off?”

Ember snorts, both hands lifting so that she can pull her golden hair into a bun. “Is that what you want?”

“Home,” Ciara says slowly, the word clumsy on her lips, heavy on her tongue. “I...I don’t know.” 

“Doesn’t feel right, does it?” Ember asks, hums when Ciara nods. “Thought so. You’ve already started to remember--those headaches you’re getting? They stem from your old memories resurfacing.” 

“But...why? You said if I opened the locket--”

Ember shakes her head. “We programmed--well,  _ I  _ programmed the Arch with a time limit. Pass that time limit and the locket starts leaking, memories start resurfacing. Eventually you won’t get a choice. And it hurts, Ciara. Getting all that information forced on you hurts.” 

“‘Like regeneration,’” Ciara echoes, wincing. “What’s regeneration?” 

“Something that requires a really,  _ really  _ long explanation that we don’t have time for,.” Ember answers with a snort. “Well, we do have time, but I’m bored. Stars are only pretty for so long, y’know?” 

She doesn’t. Ciara could stare at those stars forever. 

Ember pulls a switch and the whole ship _moves,_ wheezing and groaning as it does. At least, it feels like it’s moving--it’s making _sounds_ like it’s moving. Ciara doesn’t really feel anything, but there’s a buzz beneath her skin, and as she stands up she sways slightly, grabs onto the console for support. 

The whole thing ripples beneath her palms and Ciara jerks backward, gasping, nearly falling over as she gets away from the console. 

She stares at it, pulls in a sharp breath, and gets the strangest feeling...the ship is  _ laughing  _ at her. 

“She’s just saying hi,” Ember says, a huge grin on her face. “You can go explore, if you want. She won’t bite. She’s nice, I promise.” The way she says it--like she’s talking  _ to  _ the ship. Like it can really talk back. 

Ciara looks behind Ember, toward the closed door right behind her and the other door to her left. All of the doors are closed, but there’s...a lot of doors, actually. And smaller details too--a ladder off to one side, going down below them. A ladder above them, but it’s dark where it leads. 

The whole place is sort of golden, but in a dark way that’s not overwhelmingly bright. It’s nice--or it would be, if it didn’t look so much like a spaceship out of a comic book. 

A very dull-sounding tone rings in Ciara’s ears as she walks away from Ember, half-way to picking one of the random doors. Something pulses through her, an unhappy sensation, not angry just...moody. And Ciara blinks. 

“What did you say this ship was called again?” 

“It’s my TARDIS,” Ember says proudly. “Why?” 

“I just...felt...something.” It sounds lame. Her cheeks flame when she says it, which only brings another audible tone, this one a bit lighter, softer.

Ember chuckles. “Yeah,” she says, and Ciara can almost hear her smiling. “Yeah, she does that.” 

“But...it’s just a ship.”

“Nope--wrong wrong wrong, couldn’t be more wrong. Much more than a ship. She’s...well. It’s hard to explain. She can hear you, though. She knows who you are. She’s just confused, that’s all. Can’t you hear her?” 

Ciara turns around. “Hear her?” 

“Playing hard to get? You’ll figure it out eventually,” Ember grins again, waves her hand toward one of the doors. “Hey, Ciara?” 

“Hm?” 

“Thanks for listening to me. I know it’s...I know it all sounds crazy.” 

None of it makes sense. “Crazy” is such an understatement that Ciara’s not even sure how to respond for a second. “I mean...it is.”

Ember laughs. “Yeah. Guess so.” 

Ciara disappears. The door shuts behind her. 

She’s not sure what to expect when she walks into the next room. A bedroom isn’t it. 

And neither is the voice that hums in her head, gentle and full of kindness. 

_ Rest.  _

_ ~ _

She makes it all of five seconds, makes it until the door closes and Ciara disappears. Then her entire body slumps over and she shoves her hands under her eyes, leans into the console and lets out a shuddering breath, her chest constricting, her eyes warm with unshed tears. 

She curses. 

Her TARDIS hums quietly, wordless, reassuring. 

“That didn’t go at all like I wanted,” Ember murmurs, groaning. “She just--she doesn’t get it yet, and I’m bad at explaining…”

_ Could have rehearsed more.  _

“We practiced a dozen times!”

_ She’s stubborn.  _

“Always has been,” Ember grunts, tracing a line down the console. “Damn.” 

_ Where to next?  _

“Track Scythe’s signal,” Ember says, straightening. She rolls her shoulders, moves to adjust the side panel on the other side of the console, scowls. “It’s brighter than before. That’s not good.” 

_ Almost time.  _

“Yeah. Either he’s starting to remember on his own or…”

_ Or it’s too late.  _

Her hearts skip a beat. “Yeah.” 

_ You’re worried.  _

“Of course I’m worried,” Ember snaps, “Jade’s not herself and I have no idea where the others are. I can barely keep everything straight. It’s all too much.” 

_ I’m here.  _

“I miss Jade.” 

_ She’s sleeping.  _

“Oh? Good. She looked exhausted.” 

_ I’m here.  _

“I know,” Ember smiles, patting the console. “And I’m grateful.” 

_ Should I hurry? _

“Probably for the best,” Ember says, but she scowls when she looks in the direction Ciara went. “I’d hate to wake her.” 

_ Soon.  _

“Yeah,” Ember sighs. “Hopefully.” 

Hope. She’s gone a while without it--bright flame burning inside her, sparks lit by the voices of her friends. 

It’ll only get brighter from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading, lovelies! Be sure to drop a kudos/comment before ya go!


	3. Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scythe enters!

He remembers the little things first, noises and faces, smells and sounds. Nothing makes sense out of context but it’s subtle enough to be bearable. 

And then the headaches start. Those are tolerable too, until they turn into migraines, and  _ those  _ get him sent home from work for three days straight. He lies about them, sometimes, because working is the only thing that saves him from the images, sounds,  _ memories  _ that come with the pain. 

He’s not sure what drives him to open the watch. Weeks after, he’s still not sure. It calls to him. Not in  _ words,  _ exactly, it just...resonates with him, buzzes softly when he holds it, whispers things when he brings it close. 

He opens it one day when he’s in the midst of a migraine that’s so bad he can barely see straight. Everything changes after that. Everything. 

~

“London,” Ember hums as she bustles around the console, pushing and pulling at the buttons and levers splayed across the dash. “London, London, London.” 

Ciara stares at her. 

Ember is...complicated, she’s gathered that pretty quickly, but something’s off about her now, has been since she woke up from her nap and came backinto the main room. In anyone else she’d say it was anxiety, but Ember doesn’t seem like the type to worry about just anything. 

Then again, nothing about Ember makes sense. Absolutely nothing. So she could be wrong. 

Ember trips as she makes yet another round. Ciara looks down and realizes the girl’s shoe is untied.  _ Both _ shoes. 

“Uh, Ember--” 

“Busy!” Comes the shrill response. “Landing a TARDIS isn’t exactly easy, you know.  _ Well.  _ Guess you wouldn’t--” 

Ciara snorts. “Yeah, but--” 

“Busy!”

“Clumsy!” Ciara shoots back, rocketing up from her chair to grab at both of Ember’s elbows, stopping her instantly. “You’re going to faceplant if you don’t fix your shoes.” 

“But--” 

“I’m sure the TARDIS is more than capable of making sure we don’t die,” Ciara says, glancing pointedly down at the console. She grimaces. “I dunno how you manage to fly this thing at all--it’s all just...buttons and levers to me.” 

“You didn’t understand it when we learned it either.” 

_ Excuse me?  _ “I know how to fly a TARDIS?” 

“No, you don’t. That’s the whole freakin’ point, Ciara.” 

“Of  _ what _ ?” Does Ember even  _ care  _ about making sense?

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it later.” 

Ciara sighs, drops her hands as Ember bends down and nimbly ties her shoes--beaten, rubber-toed sneakers, worn and ragged at the edges, the laces stained brown in places, snarled and fuzzy in others. “If you’re one of these ‘Time Lord’ people, can’t you afford to get better shoes?” 

Ember stands back up, her lips twisting into an irritated pout. “I like my shoes!” 

“They look like they’ve been through a  _ war! _ ” 

“Maybe they have!” Dark eyes blazed. “I can dress however you want--” 

“Whatever.” 

“Say sorry!” 

“For  _ what? _ ” 

Ember’s arms are crossed now, and she looks exactly like an enraged puppy--adorable, but not at all intimidating--ready to bite and snarl in any attempt to look scarier than she is. 

Ciara grins at her, and Ember turns away with a huff. 

They sit in silence for a second. The exchange feels...familiar, somehow. Like they’ve done it before. Like they’ve done it lots of times. 

The TARDIS hums. In Ciara’s head it’s a wordless sound,  _ almost  _ toneless but not quite--she gets the hint of a feeling more than anything--but Ember nods, stops tearing at the console, going still for the first time in several moments. 

Well, however still she can be--Ember’s always moving, always fixing something, adjusting her jacket, picking at her fingernails. She’s impatient, antsy. Ciara’s learned that quickly too. 

“Where are we going again?” Ciara asks when the silence lapses for several minutes. 

Ember hums, her expression distant as she turns toward the door of the TARDIS. “London. It’s where the Scythe is.” 

“The...Scythe?” Ciara blinks. “That’s not a name.” 

“It’s his name,” Ember says, “he picked it. Never explained why. Never asked, actually.” 

“Why not?” 

She smirks. “You’ll see, when we meet him. He’s not the type to tolerate unimportant questions.” 

_ Oh.  _ Ciara’s stomach flips. “He sounds fun.” 

“The best kind.” 

Silence again. Ciara frowns. She’s only known Ember for a few hours--hours? Minutes? Does time even  _ work  _ on the TARDIS?--but she hasn’t been this quiet the entire time. 

And Ember’s still mumbling to herself--something about a coat, and boots with no ties--as she finishes with the blinking lights on the console. The whole ship goes still, quiet, like it’s waiting. “You ever been to London?” 

Ciara blinks. “I--I don’t  _ think _ so?” 

“Cloudy memories?” 

Ciara winces, then nods. 

“Another symptom of the truth,” Ember says, and Ciara’s scowl deepens. “Nevermind that-- _ I’ve _ been to London once or twice. We should be fine.” 

“Don’t we need, like, a map or something?” 

“I  _ said  _ we should be fine.” Ember shoots Ciara a look that very clearly means something along the lines of  _ “I don’t do maps.” _

Ciara rolls her eyes. 

“Coat,” Ember mumbles, disappearing into the shadows. “Here!” 

A lump of gray flies through the air toward Ciara. She barely manages to catch it, unfolds it clumsily until it flops into its natural form--a pale gray... _ thing  _ that reaches down to her ankles, big, deep pockets, and black stitching. Nothing fancy. It fits her, though. Fits her perfectly. 

Something tickles at the back of her mind. Familiarity. Deja vu. A wrongness--she doesn’t like it, but she knows for a fact that this jacket, this rumpled, wrinkled thing in her hands… is hers. 

And well, that changes things. 

She’s starting to believe that Ember might be right about all this. About everything. 

“Are you going to keep staring at it, Ciara? Or can we go?” Ember snaps at her. 

Ciara puts the coat on, snorts. It really does fit her well. It’s not too short anywhere, and it’s not too long. It’s not  _ quite  _ her style, but it’ll do. Better than potentially freezing, at least, and it’s not so thick that it’ll be absolutely smothering if it is hot. 

“Sorry,” she says finally, because Ember’s still staring at her, growing ever angrier. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” 

“Didn’t you say we had somewhere we needed to be?” 

Ember’s eyes narrow. 

“What?” 

“Well…” Ember winces, walks toward the door then stops. “Finding you was sort of an accident,” she says, “I’d just landed in DC, saw the cafe and thought ‘hey, coffee sounds nice’ when I walked in and saw you. Things spiraled from there.” 

That...doesn’t make any sense. “How’d you know it was me?” 

“I just did,” says Ember, something unreadable flashing through her eyes. No, not  _ unreadable,  _ exactly, just...pained. The kind Ciara can see but not understand. The kind that makes her older than she looks. 

“We can go now,” Ciara says, softly, and Ember nods, heads out the door. 

She casts one last glance at the TARDIS after they leave, shakes her head as they walk down the block. 

...her life’s bizarre now, beyond bizarre. 

Strangely, she doesn’t care. 

~

There’s a Time Lord approaching. 

It’s been far,  _ far  _ too long since he’s sensed this sort of energy--the golden kind, bright and frenzied, capable of being anything and anyone. Changeable. Giddy. Excited. 

The Ember, then. 

Scythe smiles. She’s awake too, then--it’s about time. 

Then again, she always was the most impatient of them--of  _ course  _ she’d be the first to wake up. Rare were the moments when she wasn’t winning  _ something.  _

He stands up, slides his mug across his desk, and pushes his chair forward. He gives the window a sideways glance; it’s gray and drizzly outside, but it’s not raining yet, so it’s probably safe to pop outside and wait for Ember to arrive. 

Except that--

\--he opens up his mind again and the presence is closer than before. 

Someone knocks at his door. 

“Come in,” Scythe says, resting both hands against the top of his chair. “Ah, Ada,” he says, offering the fair-haired secretary a smile as she enters. “Is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine!” Ada steps sideways, revealing the ginger-haired girl standing beside him and-- _ ah! There’s Ember-- _ the dark-haired girl just a step behind. “These two say they’re former students of yours, is that true?” 

“Yes, yes it is.” Scythe keeps away the smirk that tugs at his lips. The very idea of  _ Ember  _ being a student of his… “Ada, if you wouldn’t mind shutting the door again?” 

Ember and her friend--still human, Scythe notes, a bit confused--walk into the room. Ada shuts the door, offering the red-head a pensive smile as she walks down the hall. 

As soon as the door is closed, Ember locks eyes with him and whistles. “That secretary doesn’t like you much,” she says with a grin. 

Scythe clears his throat. “She--”

“What did you do?” Ember asks. 

“If we could just--”

“Sorry, wait.” The redhead interrupts, one eyebrow quirking upward. “You just told me you didn’t know where to find him, and then we walked out of the TARDIS and here we are? And he knows you?” 

“Right, sorry--Time Lords, we can sort of...sense each other--”

“‘ _ Sort of?”  _ The look of pure confusion on the red-headed Time Lord’s face is amusing.

“It’s a lot to explain, Ciara.” Ember says, sighing. 

“Ciara?” Scythe questions. 

“Jade,” Ember answers, shrugging in a silent apology. “Still human.”

“You’ve regenerated since the last time I saw you,” Scythe says. He instantly regrets it--Ember’s eyes widen in warning, and Jade’s eyes go hazy, distant,  _ pained  _ for a second before narrowing into the blazing slits Scythe knows to be Jade’s. And  _ yet.  _

“ _ Ciara  _ hasn’t regained her memories,” Ember says pointedly, the emphasis--and warning--clear. Then she looks at Jade. “If you start to get a headache--”

“I’m fine,” Jade says quickly, though she doesn’t look it. “Really, Ember, I’m okay.” 

Scythe stares at them both for a second, unsure of how to continue.

“Ten years went quick,” Ember murmurs, leaning against the door. “Are you--will everything be okay here without you?” 

Jade-- _ no,  _ he thinks, amused,  _ Ciara.  _ Jade always was stubborn--looks at Ember, puzzled. “What are you--”

“Lots of students? Friends?” 

Scythe shrugs, gestures to the mostly empty office, uncluttered desk. “Once I started remembering, I mostly pushed away my responsibilities. I kept teaching.” He looks at her, lip twitching. “Had to do something while I was waiting for you.” 

“Keep talking, old man.”

“Forget how to fly your TARDIS again?” 

Ember huffs. “Can we go?”

“ _ Go _ ?” Ciara questions, blinking. “You’re just...going to drop everything and leave?” 

“It’s not as if I haven’t been expecting this,” Scythe says. “We planned it all, before. Has Ember told you nothing?” 

“I have,” Ember begins, but Ciara shakes her head. The look Ember gives her is absolutely withering. 

But Ciara ignores it, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she says, “Nope, not a thing.” 

“Rude,” Ember mumbles, chastised. 

“Annoying,” Ciara shoots back with a grin. 

He’d take notes, if he had a pen. Their banter is amusing, but it’s deeper than that, identical to the way they used to be before everything, before the war debacle, before a lot of things. And Ciara’s human, her memories suppressed, her  _ personality  _ suppressed, seemingly. So the fact that she’s so quickly lapsed into her old routine with Ember… hm. 

“Doesn’t seem like he’s got much going on here,” Ember says, ignoring Ciara as she glances out into the hall. “Slow place.”

“Classes let out hours ago.” Scythe says. “Yes--let’s be going. The sooner the better.” He nearly chokes on the last word. A bird flies out of the corner of his peripheral, its black wings a shadow over the glass. It’s just a bird, but he thought... _ it looked like-- _

He forces himself to remain calm, but when he looks back at Ciara, she’s staring at him, obviously concerned--confused. Good--she’s still as perceptive as ever. However long it takes her to open that locket of hers, at least he can trust that she’s still got good senses. 

_ Won’t be long now. _

~

The second the Scythe joins their group, Ciara becomes the third wheel. 

She walks behind Ember and Scythe as they walk down the hall, stands behind them on the elevator down, and as soon as they’re back on the street, she has to fight through the people passing by 

She nearly loses sight of them twice and only manages to find them again because Scythe towers above everyone else. Good for him. 

She’s bitter about it the whole way back, but really, she should have expected this. After all,she’s the only human out of the three of them, now, and she’s practically disappointing them by refusing to open her locket. Why should they try to include her? Why should they bother to explain anything to her at all?

She slips past Ember and Scythe after they get back to the TARDIS. They don’t even  _ notice _ her. Well, Ember might--she sort of feels the Time Lord’s gaze on her as she walks past, but  _ Scythe  _ doesn’t bother with a glance. They’re too busy talking. 

Time Lords. Are the rest of Ember’s friends going to be like this? Is  _ she  _ like this? Her real self, with her real memories? 

Mid-step, she stops. 

When did she start thinking that way?

She’s...she’s still herself, right? She’s not faking. She’s not doing anything wrong--she’s just living, breathing, and she’s still  _ human  _ but that wasn’t a crime before meeting Ember and Scythe and she refuses to believe it’s wrong now. 

This is the problem with it all, she knows. Everything that’s going on around her is proof that what Ember  _ has  _ said,  _ has  _ explained, is real. She’s not human--she’s only been playing the part of one, voluntarily. For...some reason. 

Why is she still here? 

“Your poor TARDIS is in terrible shape,” Scythe rumbles from the console room. 

Ember’s retort is high-pitched, but incomprehensible. The ship shudders. Ciara gets the  _ barest sense  _ of a conversation going on between the two Time Lords, but she still can’t hear anything. Scythe can, though, probably. Because of course he can. 

Ciara curses. 

The locket’s still in her pocket. 

It’s broken now, but it still burns in her hand as she takes it out, feels almost...heavy--or maybe she’s just imagining it. 

She holds it in both hands, inserts her nail into the tiny gap between the two halves. Stands in the hall, frozen, her heart hammering in her chest. 

She can’t do it. Something’s still holding her back. 

_ Not yet,  _ something inside her whispers,  _ not time.  _

She bites her lip, lets out a soft, hissing sigh. When she shuts her bedroom door, she can’t hear Ember and Scythe anymore, and the ache in her head finally starts to go away. 

She tosses the locket onto the floor. 

_ Soon,  _ she thinks in its direction, rolling over to face the wall. But not yet. Not yet. 

~

The TARDIS settles down and Yaz watches the Doctor blink back to reality, her gaze having wandered during their flight. 

She’s nervous, now. She hadn’t thought this far, before. The idea that the Doctor might still be upset, bothered by something even after being rescued, hadn’t occurred to her. 

And she’s not sure what to do. 

They’ve never been good at this, the two of them--never been good at small talk, dallying. 

So she gets straight to the point. “Doctor, where are we?” 

“Earth,” the Doctor says. “Home.” 

An image of a burnt-out city and a landscape withered raw by wind and sun flashes through Yaz’s mind. What would it feel like, to know your world is gone? To know everyone you love is--

“Thought maybe we’d see what Graham and Ryan are up to,” says the Doctor, some of her old cheer seeping back into her voice. It’s shallow, though, fake. “We can--”

And Yaz, generally, isn’t one for interrupting people, but the sparkle in the Doctor’s eyes is bright and pure and so, so genuine that it  _ hurts,  _ so she steps forward and shakes her head, frowns. “Doctor, Ryan and Graham…”

“Yes?” 

“They--this whole time, they thought you were dead.” 

The Doctor goes very, very still. 

“We had...a fight, of sorts,” Yaz says slowly, “they wanted to move on. I--” her throat goes tight and her voice trembles, wobbles,  _ breaks  _ until she settles for eye-contact instead, hoping it’s enough. Judging by the look on the Doctor’s face, it is. 

“Oh, Yaz,” the Doctor says. “I’m sorry, I really am.” 

Yaz blinks. An apology wasn’t what she was expecting either. “You don’t have to--”

But the Doctor waves her away, slips past her to the door. She swings it open, letting in the sunlight, and smiles, nose scrunching until her whole face is sort of wrinkled, joyful. “Come on, Yaz! Let’s go find Ryan and Graham.” 

Yaz’s stomach twists, but she follows the Doctor anyway. And why shouldn’t she? She’s travelled with the Doctor before--everything always turns out fine in the end. 

_ This is different,  _ logic tells her, but Yaz ignores the voice. This is  _ the Doctor  _ she’s with. Everything is going to be  _ fine.  _

Probably. 

~

“Is she always like that, now?” Scythe queries, and Ember looks up to find him staring off into the distance, his eyes on the TARDIS’ doors. “Distant--confused.” 

“I haven’t exactly known her for long,” Ember says, fiddling with the screen displaying their next coordinates. “She’s...well, you know. Quiet. Moody.” 

Scythe clears his throat. When Ember looks at him again, his eyes are on her. “She’s regenerated recently.” 

Ember’s face flushes. “A lot happened while you were away.” 

“Oh?” 

“I don’t exactly want to talk about it.” 

“If we’re to be a team again, searching for Sage and Stele, I’d like to know what happened in my stead.” Scythe’s gray eyes narrow. “Or is there something you’d prefer not to tell me?” 

That’s it--he knows her  _ far  _ too well. “Later,” she says, dancing around the question again--much to Scythe’s annoyance. 

He nods, his jaw set. “Well, then. If that’s the case, we’d best be off.” 

“Why?” 

“Later,” he says, with a pointed look in her direction. “Now--if you don’t mind,  _ I’ll  _ be flying, this time.” 

“We’ll fly together,” Ember snaps, “she’s my TARDIS.” 

Scythe’s eyes twinkle. “Indeed. And she’s got a lot to say about you.” 

  
Ember groans--she really,  _ really  _ should have saved the Scythe for last--but agrees. 

_This is what she wanted,_ she reminds herself with forced patience. Regardless of the time--and sanity--lost in the process, this is what she's needed for the last ten years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment/kudos on your way out?


	4. Silver and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which life is not, in fact, a beach.

_ “And we’re sure about this?” Stele asks. “I mean...are we really sure?” _

_ It’s the fourth time she’s asked the question. None of them seem particularly keen on answering it again, so Scythe glares at her until the confusion leaves her eyes.  _

_   
_ _ They’re all tired. And anxious. Repeated questions aren’t really helping.  _

_ “Everything’s sorted, then?” Scythe looks at Ember. His former student is, perhaps, the most nervous of them all; she’s frowning as she places her hands flat against the console of her TARDIS, her gaze distant, empty. “Ember?”  _

_ Her chosen name suits her well.  _

_ He’s proud of her--he is, really. It’s...complicated. _

_ “We still need Jade,” Ember murmurs, and the air in the room shifts, turns uncomfortably tense _ . 

_ “I see.” Scythe tenses. “And you’ve got that...figured out?”  _

_ “Not really,” she says, biting her lip. “You know how it goes.” _

_ He does indeed.  _

_ “Keep in mind that however you decide to handle things, you’ll have to deal with the consequences later,” Stele says, taking the words right out of Scythe’s mouth. “Are you prepared to deal with that, Ember?” _

_ “She’s just stubborn,” Ember says with a grimace. She gives Stele a look. “She’s my best friend. I know how she is.”  _

_ Ember’s flippancy puts a sour taste in his mouth. None of them agree with the war, with the Time Lords’ pompous way of doing things--of dodging and darting around their enemies in an attempt to gain ground--but Jade is different, stubborn as Ember says but worse--much worse.  _

_ “She’s found her cause,” Stele says softly, gently. “I fear what will happen when you try and pull her away from it.” _

_ Ember’s gaze hardens, flashes until her entire body is tense, buzzing with the heat that gives her her name.  _

_ Beneath their feet, the TARDIS rumbles its impatience. Ember’s fingers flip across the keys. He feels the moment they leave Gallifrey, feels the moment they slip into the stars.  _

_ There’s a pit in his stomach, a tremor in his chest. They’re headed into dangerous territory here, and he doesn’t like it--he doesn’t like it at all.  _

_ ~ _

“Florida’s nice,” Ember says, raising her voice as she ducks into one of the TARDIS’ hallways in search of better-suited clothes. “Lots of beaches.” She rummages through one of the blue boxes on the floor. Nothing fits her current style. She’s not even sure what her current style  _ is.  _

“And rain,” Scythe mumbles, foul-tempered as ever. He says it so softly Ember barely catches his words.

“London has rain,” she shoots back, giggling. “Lots of it.” She can nearly feel Scythe’s gaze bearing into her as she keeps her back to him. She pulls out a pink tank-top, drops it. Jeans. She likes jeans. Not skirts--too hard to run in. 

“Florida has hurricanes.” Scythe says. 

“Hurricanes aren’t always bad. Sometimes they miss the coast completely” 

Ember stands up. Ciara comes out of nowhere--Jade’s always been quiet, and she’s always found amusement in startling others--but the problem  _ now _ is that her voice sounds  _ dead,  _ flat out  _ exhausted,  _ no trace of energy or wit in her tone. “Finally awake, huh?” she chirps. “You slept long enough.”

No response. 

Confused, Ember turns and cranes her neck to look back out into the console room. Ciara’s standing with her back toward the hall Ember’s in. Scythe is standing near her, one hand extended toward the ceiling, Ciara’s locket in his grasp. 

“It’s broken,” she hears him say, hears the shock in his voice. “How is that possible?”

“Will it affect my memories?” Ciara asks. 

Scythe huffs. “I expect it already has. Have you been dreaming?” 

Ciara hums in affirmation. 

“Vividly?” 

Another grunt. 

“Headaches?”

“Constant,” Ciara says softly, and Ember’s hearts twist in her chest. “I keep...seeing images. Feeling things. And it’s like...it’s me and not me, all at once.” 

Scythe nods. “Well--”

Ember’s cheeks flame. She turns slowly, tries to settle back into finding an outfit. The tank-top in her hand is sweaty, sticky in her grasp. She uncurls her fingers from around it and looks down to find her hand shaking. 

“I’m afraid...by the time I do open the locket, there’ll be nothing of me left.” Ciara murmurs. “Who was Jade? Is she...good?”

“‘Good’ is, generally, a lot to ask of a Time Lord,” Scythe says, deadly serious, and Ember nearly smirks from her spot safely tucked into the shadows. “There are a few exceptions. Jade is...a lot of things, Ciara. If we had the time, I’d tell you. But the truth of the matter is that it’s your choice--you either wither away to nothing, or you open the locket and reassume your proper identity. It’s entirely up to you.” 

_ That’s  _ not exactly how Ember imagined this conversation going, and judging from the worried pulse her TARDIS gives beneath her, Ciara doesn’t take it well. But Scythe turns away and the conversation is, effectively, over, leaving all of them to go back to what they were doing before.

“Ember--”

“Put these on.” Ember panics, reaches into the box and pulls out the first two things she touches. There’s a few things she never wants to talk about with Jade. One of them is the circumstances that brought them here. The others are...unimportant. 

Unimportant. Definitely.

“These--you just gave me two shirts, Ember,” Ciara tilts her head. “And besides--I think what I’m wearing is just fine, don’t you?” 

“Right, uh, sorry.” Ember’s entire face goes uncomfortably warm. “Ignore me. I’m just…” 

Ciara shrugs, silent, then walks away with another word. 

And Ember just watches her, miserably confused. “I didn’t mean  _ literally _ …”

~

They open the TARDIS doors and Ciara’s hit by something, everything, all at once. 

The air is thick, filled with moisture and heat and the scent of something sweet; Ciara looks to her left and smiles--they’ve landed in a nearby orange grove. They’re surrounded by trees in full bloom, oranges ripe on the branches, framed by white blossoms. There are waves rolling, crashing in the distance. 

She blinks, inhales deep, trying to carve every smell, every sensation, into her brain. 

This place is a little slice of heaven. 

She’s been here before, only...she can’t remember when. And yet, in the back of her mind is the remnant of her  _ old  _ memories, her  _ fake  _ memories, and when she focuses, they crystallize into a hominess, a peace. She’s from here. This is her  _ home.  _

Red skies flash through her mind again. A golden dome. Snatches of voices. Her head throbs and she blinks the pain away. 

Home-- _ whatever.  _ She doesn’t even know where that is anymore.

Scythe brushes past her. He only bumps her, but the touch is still enough to bring her out of her daze. She blinks. She’s back in the grove. Ember’s shuffled past her and is heading down the path down to the beach. 

She looks back in Ciara’s direction, her eyes shining. “Coming?” she asks, lips pulling into a wry little grin. 

“Coming,” Ciara answers, a bit startled. Then again, she thinks, snorting, Ember is wildly emotional. Whatever was bothering her before must not have been important after all. “Hey--Em, where do you think the Sage is?” 

Scythe chokes a little, freezes where he stands. A few steps away, Ember does the same. 

Ciara frowns. “Did I say something wrong?” 

“What did you just call me?” 

“Sorry!” Ciara’s cheeks flush. “I just...it seemed…” 

_ “Why do you always insist on giving me nicknames, Jade?” _

_ “Nicknames are fun! And besides, you love me.”  _

_ “...I do, don’t I?”  _

“--ara? Ciara, you in there?” 

She blinks, focuses. The world is blurry, everything muddled. Ember’s voice is warbled as she moves in front of Ciara, a caramel-colored swirl moving gently up and down in front of her. 

_ Heartbeats. She can hear her heartbeats. And suddenly she’s back on Gallifrey again, and she’s-- _

“Ciara!” Ember  _ snaps _ her fingers, the sound too loud to be more than the regular gesture. Ciara  _ rocks,  _ her whole body going stiff, cold as she struggles out of her daze. Ember is staring at her. Scythe is off to the side, shaking his head. 

“What happened?” Ciara asks. 

Ember curses, the sound gentle and brusque all at once. It’s not a word Ciara understands, which only adds to her confusion. 

“You called me ‘Em’,” Ember says, “you haven’t done that in  _ years _ .”

“Oh.” She’s...not sure what that means. “Sorry?” 

Ember’s lips pinch together. “It’s fine,” she says, in a way that implies the exact opposite. 

“We should get going--” Scythe says, clearing his throat. “We have a Sage to find--”

“Nicknames,” Ciara says, ignoring the way Scythe glares at her when she cuts him off. “You didn’t let anyone else give you nicknames.” 

Ember takes a step backward. “And you know that how?” she asks, brown eyes wide. 

The question makes her freeze for a second. 

“I...saw it, sort of,” she says, stumbling over the words, suddenly uneasy. “Except it was more… instinctive--like a memory, except not as cloudy. I heard the words and I just...knew.” 

“Telepathy,” Scythe murmurs, sounding awed. “Even as a human, you’re remarkable, Jade.”

Ciara stares at him. “Telepathy, like--”

_ “Please, is anyone there? I’m lost, I’m so lost…” _

“--like the ability to read minds, yes.” Scythe nods. “And, as if on cue…”

“Ciara, did you hear that just now?” Ember asks. 

“Yeah.” Ciara nods. “Who was that? Why was it…”

_ “I can feel you…”  _

“It’s Sage,” Ember frowns. “I don’t know how, but she’s projecting her thoughts. We can track her. Scythe?” 

“Five steps ahead,” Scythe says from several feet away. Ciara blinks.  _ How did he get there?  _

Ember curses. “She could be anywhere,” she mutters, jogging up to catch Scythe. “Where-” 

“Down this ridge, toward that hut,” Scythe says, looking at her strangely. “Did you really never pay attention to my lectures at all?” 

“I paid attention,” Ember retorts, her face screwing into a scowl. “You were just a boring teacher.”

“ _ Boring-- _ !!” Scythe sputters, whirling on her. “Honestly, the audacity--”

“Excuse me,” Ciara butts in before the memory sizzling at the forefront of her mind can take shape. “Are we going to find her? Or no?” 

Scythe gives Ember a look and she returns it, glowering. The two of them head down the hill without so much as another word. 

Ciara trails behind them, snorting. 

_ They really are insane.  _

Ember surges forward, then comes to a sudden stop, yelping as a big red car races past them. The picturesque orange grove is sliced in half by a slab of gray road. To make matters worse, the street is a busy one, and the fumes from the passing cars are almost enough to smother the scent of the orange grove behind them.

“Impatient,” Scythe sighs, maneuvering toward the small traffic beacon on the street’s corner. He jabs at the button, stares across the road to watch as the numbers on the other side tick down to safety. 

“‘S alright,” Ember beams back at him, “I’ve still got a few lives left.” 

Scythe stares at her, and Ember pales. 

“Ah, hells,” she mumbles, looking sick. “I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t say anything in response, just looks straight ahead. 

Ember stares down at her shoes. 

“Light’s green,” Ciara reminds her gently, laughs as Ember takes off across the street, blatantly ignoring the crosswalk down by the light where Scythe is.

Beyond the groves is a series of shops--small ones, plaster walls pale and sunkissed, faint brown stonework decorating their fronts. They’re tourist shops, names etched out in bold, cartoonish fonts, brightly colored clothes set out in their windows. 

_ “Jade, please--” _

She stops walking.

“Not you too,” Ember’s immediately at her side, tugging at her arm. “You’re still human, if you--” 

A car flies past them, it’s horn shrieking impossible rage as it streaks through the stoplight and around the next bend in the road. 

Ember glares in its direction, her fist curling around Ciara’s arm. “We gotta go,” she says softly. “Ciara, come on--”

“She said my name,” Ciara whispers, awed. “I’m--she knows who I am.” 

Ember’s gaze goes hazy, almost...sad. “Your mind feels the same,” she says, “that’s probably all it is.” 

There’s something else she isn’t saying, but Ciara doesn’t push. She follows Ember to the other side, blinks as her head begins to ache--

_ “Jade, please.” _

“Can’t you hear her?” she asks, rubbing at her forehead. “She’s so  _ loud. _ ”

“The human mind wasn’t meant for telepathy,” Scythe says in gentle warning. “Ciara--”

_ “Please, just leave.”  _

The world spins. Ciara’s vaguely aware of Ember’s grip around her arm but she slumps, moans as her stomach begins to churn and her pulse speeds up, heart racing until she can hear it thumping in her ears, feel it in her throat. 

_ “This is your fault. You did this to me.” _

“She’s going to pass out!” Ember exclaims. There’s a rush of wind and then Scythe is holding onto her too, and there’s chatter beyond them as passersby start to take notice, and there are other thoughts creeping in and everything is just so  _ loud-- _

“Damn it!” Ember thunders, and the world  _ shifts  _ and suddenly they’re on the beach, there’s soft sand beneath Ciara’s arms and legs, grains trickling into her ears and hair. “Ciara, listen to me. Listen to my voice,  _ just my voice. _ ” 

Her world broadens, then narrows. She focuses. Everything hurts. 

“Something is wrong,” Scythe says. 

Ember snorts. “Yeah? No shit.” 

“Language--”

“Don’t ‘ _ language’  _ me, old man.”

She’s  _ exhausted  _ but her mind’s whirling, everything pushing in too fast, too much at once. 

“Her locket, where’s her locket?” 

“Did she leave it on the TARDIS?” 

“I don’t  _ know,  _ is there any point in--”

“It has to be her choice, Ember.” 

“I know, damn it!” 

Ciara shuts her eyes. Cold, clammy fingers trace her temples, press into her skull. Her mind opens--for a single moment, it feels like she’s not alone in her head, and the sensation is familiar and strange all at once. 

“That’s the problem,” Scythe says, his voice trembling slightly. “Sage’s opened a link with her.”

“She  _ what? _ ” 

“I’m not sure either of them are conscious of it,” Scythe begins, but he cuts off, sighing. The breeze blows again, tossing sand onto Ciara’s face. 

Ciara coughs. Her throat is raw and aching as she tries to sit up, clear her throat and  _ talk _ , because she can almost feel Ember’s anger as she runs off, headed...somewhere. “S-Scythe--” 

“Ciara, I need you to listen to me.” 

Ciara blinks. 

“The locket--your locket. Where is it? Is it on you? Is it back on the TARDIS?” 

She croaks, heaves dryly as the air sticks in her throat “I--” 

“Don’t speak, just think it.” Scythe’s crooked fingers tap her temple again. 

_ “It’s on the TARDIS,”  _ She thinks toward him, the thought turning her brain to static, the world around her turning to nothing but noise as she panics, the pain in her head turning unbearably hot. “Please--” she stutters out, but there’s no answer, and she opens her eyes and the world is blurry and shifting but she can see that Scythe is gone, abandoned her, and her back arches and she  _ spasms-- _

_ “You idiot!”  _ She hears Ember roar in her mind, not to her but to someone else, someone who wilts at the sound of the absolute  _ fury  _ in Ember’s tone.  _ “You’re killing her!”  _

_ She’s sitting down in a library filled to the brim with big books, thick ones bound in brown leather and golden trim. Fancy books--the kind with a lot of words that are all fluff. This one isn’t. She turns the page, scours it hungrily, fully absorbed in its contents until-- _

_ Something small and metallic thunks down on the table next to her. She looks up to find Ember staring down at her, expression caught between amusement and annoyance.  _

_ “Do you know what time it is?” she asks.  _

_ Jade snorts. “I’m well aware.”  _

_ “The library closed ages ago,” Ember huffs, pulling out the chair across from her.  _

_ “Then why are you still here?”  _

_ “Because you are,” Ember replies simply, winking at her. “Hurry up and finish studying, Jade. I‘d like to go home at some point tonight.” She pauses. “I brought you soup.”  _

Her head stops aching. 

It’s  _ almost  _ instantaneous, when it happens--except that the echoes of the pain in her skull and chest are still unpleasant sparks at the edge of her awareness--and she’s suddenly able to take a deep breath for what feels like the first time in forever. 

She breathes. In, out. Her heart is still racing. Everything aches, if not as badly as before. She’s--

“Jade?” A soft voice whispers, an unfamiliar one, sort of. 

“She goes by Ciara right now,” Ember says, “although--” 

“I’ve found the locket.” 

Ciara sits up, suddenly extremely aware of all the eyes on her, and curls her arms around her chest. “What’s going on?” 

“You scared us for a moment there,” Scythe says, kneeling down with a grunt. “Are you feeling alright now?” 

Ciara swallows. “I think so,” she says, “although--” 

“Hm?” 

“It’s nothing.” She forces away the discomfort niggling in her stomach, files it away for later. “What happened?” 

“You almost died.” Ember says, blunt, her voice trembling. “Sage here opened an involuntary mind link with you and nearly killed you.” 

“Involuntary--how?”

“You’re human--you don’t have the ability to shield your mind the way we do.” Scythe answers. “I wish I could tell you such a matter was trivial, but unfortunately…” 

Ciara’s heart skips a beat. 

And Scythe looks equally perturbed. “For a moment there, I was afraid we were going to lose you,” he murmurs, reaching into his pocket. “The human mind wasn’t meant to experience that kind of strain. I’m sure  _ Sage  _ was just unable to remember that little detail--otherwise she would have chosen a different method of communication?”

Sage bites her lip. “Yes--I’m sorry, Jade.” 

Ciara stares down at the sand. 

“Do you realize what this means, Ciara?” Scythe probes. “You’re too vulnerable as a human--you need to regain your memories as soon as possible--your proper biology makes you stronger, less defenseless--”

“But we’re fine,” Ciara says. “So what--I can’t use telepathy. We’re not in any danger.” 

Scythe’s jaw twitches. 

“Are we?” Ciara presses, concerned. “Scythe?” 

“The sooner the better, Ciara,” Scythe says, and then he presses her locket into her hands. 

Ember and Scythe exchange a look. 

“We’re going to leave you alone for a while,” Ember says. “Just...think about it, okay?” 

They start to leave. 

Sage stays at her side, frozen. 

“What you said earlier--” Ciara begins. 

Sage’s expression hardens. “I don’t regret a word of it,” she says, green eyes flashing. “You’ll know, when you remember. You’ll get what you deserve.” She turns on her heel and walks off, kicking up spouts of sand in her wake. 

She’s only known Sage for a few minutes, and she’s already not sure what to think. 

She stares down at the locket in her hand. 

It’s burned, and maybe that means something and maybe it doesn’t, but the truth is that she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know a lot of things right now and this is solid--she doesn’t want to go through what she just went through ever again, doesn’t want to be that close to dying, and she’s tired of not knowing what’s going on, she’s--

She flips the locket open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic music plays*
> 
> no one is excited for this but I'M EXCITED


	5. Stars and Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are revealed, nothing is as it seems, and something is coming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate chapter summaries...
> 
> ANYWAY. The next chapter might be a bit depending on how long it takes me to outline the next arc or so--just in case it does take me a bit, I apologize! Thanks to everyone who's read/kudos'd so far, I love you all dearly <3

This isn’t good--none of it, any of it. 

She’s here, she’s with the Doctor again, and she should be happy but she  _ isn’t-- _ something, everything is wrong, and it feels like she’s lying to the Doctor, pretending to be happy. 

She’ll have to tell her eventually, and-- 

_ Darkness malevolence violence fear rage panic anger jealousy zeal-- _

_ Shadows embers hunting instinct fury kill kill kill-- _

_ Fire stone knife sharp blood on sand hunt hunt hunt-- _

_ Danger _ , says the TARDIS, in a voice loud enough for Yaz to hear.  _ Warning. _

“Something’s coming,” the Doctor whispers, drawing Yaz’s attention. “Something bad--something very, very not good.” 

“Can we fight it?” Yaz asks, uneasy. There’s a glint in the Doctor’s eyes that she’s never seen before, and she doesn’t like that, doesn’t like it  _ all.  _ “Doctor?” 

“I don’t know,” the Doctor answers, frowning. “I’ve never--” she grimaces. “I don’t know what this is,” she says, the fear in her eyes giving way to a more familiar energetic sparkle, and Yaz relaxes--even if the change is a bit forced. “But I’m going to find out.” 

_ We,  _ Yaz thinks but doesn’t say. Out loud, she asks, “what about Ryan and Graham?” 

The Doctor winces. “Yaz--”

“They--we should let them know you’re okay.” 

“Get the Fam back together again.”

The Doctor’s an optimist, Yaz knows, but something is  _ wrong  _ and she can  _ see  _ the gears turning in her eyes, feel her fear, her anxiety, her absolute fury at  _ not knowing what to do _ so she steps forward, nearly bumping shoulders with the Doctor, and nods. “Right, then. To Ryan and Graham.” 

“Yaz, when we find them, will they come back with us?” The Doctor asks her. “With me?” 

Yaz’s heart  _ twists.  _ “I--”

“I’ve gone and lost them for good, haven’t I?” 

“It wasn’t your fault--”

“It always is.” 

Yaz scowls. She’d pilot the TARDIS herself if she could, get them to somewhere where they could relax, have fun for a change. The Doctor needs it--if Yaz is honest, she does too.

Beneath her feet, the TARDIS hums, and then they’re moving. The Doctor hasn’t moved. Neither has Yaz--not that she’d do any good--but the TARDIS moves anyways. They’re  _ flying,  _ and as the Doctor stares at her, wide-eyed, Yaz stares down at the console, startled. 

“I didn’t--”

“I think you did,” the Doctor says, smiling a smile that’s small but genuine and  _ bright.  _ “She likes you,” she says, shaking her head. “Yasmin Khan, you’re flying the TARDIS.” 

“But I-- _ what? _ ” 

“I hope you know where we’re going,” mumbles the Doctor, peering down at controls, her nose wrinkling as she squints at the screen. “Because I certainly don’t.” 

~

_ Across the planet, four Time Lords look up, uneasy, and stare at the horizon.  _

_ Something is coming. None of them know what--none of them, except for one.  _

_ ~ _

She opens the locket and her world expands, grows, brightens until it’s too much. Her world fills with gold. Everything aches--aches in strange places, places she’d forgotten  _ existed,  _ and then it’s over and she’s still  _ her,  _ sitting on the sand, the wind tossing pale grains over her ankles, shins, and toes. 

She blinks. Lets out a slow breath, inhales. 

She’s back. 

She’s Jade again. 

Only it doesn’t quite feel like it--doesn’t quite feel like it did before. She’s still...human, obvious differences aside. There’s still human thoughts bouncing around in her head--not  _ entirely  _ unwelcome. Being Ciara had been strange--almost refreshing, but still strange. 

And now she’s back. And everything is crashing in all at once. And she’s--

_ Betrayed. _

The pain pricks at the center of her chest, hard, fast, and deep as the memories come back--or at least, what’s left of them. Everything is foggy. She growls, clenches the empty shell of a locket in her left hand, and slowly rocks to her feet. 

Scattered, hazy, lost. Her memories are scrambled and it’s not the locket’s fault, not completely. 

She nearly sits down again, the weight of the realization heavy in her hearts as she looks out at the horizon. This place--Ciara had memories here, fake memories, of nights spent searching for shells on a shallow shoreline, of mornings spent watching the sun slip from the sea to the sky. 

She growls again, drops the locket onto the sand and scuffs one foot over it, covering it up until it’s buried, out of sight and out of mind. 

And then she walks. 

And she remembers.

_ They grow up together, they’re friends as much as they can be, even though that’s a bit odd, in everyone else’s eyes, and they’ve more important things to focus on.  _

_ Nothing changes after they take their new names. Ember’s still the same as she’s always been, if more energetic, more excited. She, before anyone else, has always looked forward to this--to being able to explore new places, see new things.  _

_ And it is exciting, Jade knows. But Gallifrey is their home, and-- _

Moments before Jade crosses into the view of Ember, Sage, and Scythe, she stops. Takes a breath. She’s fine--needs to be fine and very much not angry, because if she’s angry Ember’ll sense it, and--

The next memory hits  _ hard. _

_ Ember’s got her against a wall, and both of them are panting, Ember’s eyes are bright and she’s gasping for air as she holds her shoulder, something cold, steel in her other hand.  _

_ “I’m doing this for you,” she grinds out, her eyes flashing in a way that’s monstrous and stunning all at once. “Jade--”  _

_ “I hate you,” Jade snarls, shoving her away. “I hate you!” Her throat is thick and there are tears, boiling hot and fat and  _ real  _ building behind her eyes as she jerks away, trembling, anger rising fast and fierce in her chest.  _

_ “No, you don’t.” Softly, gently, Ember touches her mind, and Jade takes another step backward, incensed, a low, snarling sort of sound rumbling deep in her throat. _

_ “Jade,” Ember tries again, but Jade just sneers at her, turns toward the door. Ember isn’t moving. She isn’t sure what her plan was--maybe she never had one to begin with. Or--  _

_ Pain erupts in Jade’s head and she sinks to the floor, yelling, groaning as stars dance before her eyes. Light, swift is Ember’s touch as her thin fingers press against Jade’s forehead, and Jade screams, knowing what’s coming, but then everything’s gone and her world goes black.  _

“Jade?” 

When she opens her eyes, she can still hear herself screaming.

“Jade!” Ember’s loud and cheery as always, and Jade forces a smile to compensate.

“Hello,” she says, beaming, because there’s definitely  _ some part of her  _ that’s excited to be normal again, back with--well. “Everything go alright while I was out?” 

“Everything’s great,” Ember says, “are you okay?” 

Inwardly, Jade snorts. 

No, she’s not okay. She’s the absolute furthest thing from okay. 

_ You took my memories my memories are gone and it’s your fault your fault your fault-- _

Out loud, she nods, says, “I’m fine.” 

And Ember  _ believes her.  _ Is perfectly content to move on as if nothing’s happened  _ at all.  _

Genuinely,  _ genuinely,  _ Jade can’t tell her her friend--former friend?--is stupid or just unbelievably naive. 

“We need to leave soon, go find Stele.” Ember reaches up and snatches a strand of hair out of her eyes as the wind blows. She turns, tilting her head slightly, and glances back to where Scythe is standing down on the shoreline, alone. 

Something tugs at the back of her mind--something isn’t right, something entirely uninvolved with her present circumstances. Something’s--

“Sheffield, I think,” Ember mumbles, as if she’s having this conversation completely with herself. “Why she’d go there, I don’t know, maybe…” she trails off, turns toward Scythe. “Hey! Where’d Sage go?” 

Slowly, the older Time Lord lifts a hand and points to one of the nearby shops. 

Ember’s temper visibly flares as she glares at the shop in question. “Ah, hells,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “I’ll go get her. You coming? Or…?” 

“I’ll stay here.” 

The excitement in Ember’s eyes dies a little, at that, and Jade  _ almost  _ laughs. “Does Sage even have any money?” 

“Probably not?” Ember winces. “Oh, jeez…” 

She walks away, still muttering, and Jade turns back to the ocean with a snort. 

_ Pain fear rage violence hunt hunt hunt-- _

She jolts, whirls around so fast her head spins, and glares up at the sky, senses stretching outward in an attempt to pinpoint the source of the sudden burst of energy. 

Down the shoreline, she feels Scythe’s surprise snap against her own. 

“Hey!” She yells, running forward as he does, the two of them meeting in the middle, by a fence that separates them from the tourists and beachcombers walking down the beach. “Did you feel that just now?” 

“Yes.” He’s breathless, and she only manages to catch a flicker of his anxiety before he wraps his mind in shields stronger than her own, almost impenetrable. “Jade, we need to leave, now.” 

And she nods, but her mind’s back to the shop and Sage and Ember. “Ember and Sage--”

“I know.” Scythe winces. “Sage ran off, I didn’t have time to warn her.”

“Warn her,” Jade echoes, scowling. “Warn her of what, exactly?” 

He sighs, quiet for a second, and then says, “the Hunters, Jade. The Hunters are after me.” 

~

The shop is, in Ember’s opinion, way too bright and way too loud. It’s too small, the aisles cramped and narrow as she works her way around the shelves and racks, searching the place for Sage’s tangle of bright red curls. 

She doesn’t find anything--Sage might as well not be here at all. 

The radio’s crackly and full of static, some pop song that’s five years out of style, but Ember finds herself humming anyway. Places like this make you want to buy things. They’re playful and carefree and vibrant and  _ human,  _ with absolutely no worries thrown to the outside world at all. 

She finds Sage standing in the middle of an aisle surrounded by jewelry, two bracelets and a necklace in her hands. She’s mumbling--talking to herself, and she doesn’t notice Ember’s even there until--

“Do you even have any money, Sage?” 

“Stars!” The younger girl squeaks, whirling around, her eyes flashing. “Why on  _ earth  _ would you scare me like that?” 

Ember snickers. “Sorry.”

Sage looks...better, she thinks, watching as she turns back to the shelf. The column to her right is completely covered in bracelets and stringy-sort of wraps, the kind that look like they’d fall apart as soon as they were in place. She runs a finger across one, and even her energy seems brighter, less clouded and...dark, like it had been when they’d first found her. 

Worry twists across Ember’s chest. She turns, pretends to pick through the t-shirt rack behind her.  _ Sage.  _

_ Yes?  _

_ How exactly did you wake up? _

Sage’s hand drops to her side.  _ I had dreams,  _ she says,  _ bad dreams.  _

Ember waits. 

_ Of...the last time I died.  _

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ That explains a lot, actually. Ember’s hearts ache for her, truly--her age shows in everything from the way she carries herself to the terms she uses, and this world, their lives now, can be too much for someone like her, someone so young.

_ Regeneration is scary, the first few times,  _ she says, tone soft, comforting.  _ But--  _

_ I think I’m going to keep my locket,  _ Sage interrupts.  _ I don’t...have bad memories of being human. And I want to remember.  _

_ Whatever you think is best,  _ Ember says, and their conversation ends. 

Sage puts the bracelets and the necklace back on the shelf. 

Ember turns toward the door. “We should really--”

The door bursts open. At the front of the store, the cashier yelps. 

_ Can’t see anything--  _ Jade’s thoughts are loud, punctuated by fear.  _ Ember, Sage, tell me you’re in here.  _

Ember makes nervous eye-contact with Sage.  _ We’re here.  _

_ We need to go,  _ Jade says, her tone leaving no room for question.  _ Now. Right now.  _

~

The walk--run, really, they’re all scared, even if she doesn’t want to admit it--back to the TARDIS is different now that she’s back in her right mind. 

Because she can sense the TARDIS waiting for them, its presence soft, glimmering gently in the back of her mind as they approach. She’s always been close with Ember’s TARDIS, their bond second only to the one she had with her own. Ember’s TARDIS always understood her in a way Ember never had, acted accordingly, even if it frustrated Ember, sometimes. 

All Jade had ever done--everything she’d ever said--had been for Ember’s sake. And she’d been repaid with--

“Right, then,” she says once they’re inside, pushing away her thoughts and her rage. “What’re we up against?” 

All eyes turn to Scythe. 

She’s never known the man to wilt under pressure but he seems ready to now. He slumps against the TARDIS’ console, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on his shoes. 

There’s something wrong with him. If she’s right, there’s something--or a lot of things, most likely--that he isn’t telling him. Normally that would be fine.  _ Now,  _ though…

“Scythe,” she says, keeping her voice level, “whatever you’re hiding, now would be a good time to come out with it.” 

“You’ve always been good about respecting secrets,” Scythe says, his expression hardening. 

Jade curls her lip. “Not when they endanger my friends.” 

Friends--how very in-character of her. The lie comes easily and quickly, entirely ignoring the fact that her friendship with all of these people might very well be in question, because there’s a huge chunk of time and memory that she  _ can’t recall,  _ and--

Regardless, her words seem to have the right effect, and Scythe nods, his lips pressing together, his head bowing as he takes a slow breath in. “Hunters,” he says, “I never learned their names. They’re hunters--assassins. I had a run in with them a few centuries ago, and they’ve been after me ever since.”

“And you neglected to tell us this earlier...why?” Jade steps toward him, crosses her arms and gives him her best glare. “Scythe--if they’re after you, they’re after all of us. We were all on earth together, why--”

“I thought I was safe,” Scythe hisses, cutting her off. “They didn’t--they don’t have the same time-traveling capabilities that we do, I thought earth would be the perfect place to hide.” 

“‘Hiding’ was never our plan,” Ember says, “we always planned to return to Gallifrey, after the war.” 

The war--Jade’s stomach twists at the mention.  _ That  _ she has memories off, memories crystal clear and painful, filled with an ache. 

Ember’s words seem to have a similar effect on Scythe, who goes pale, uneasy. 

“They don’t have time-travelling capabilities--at least, reliable ones.” He says slowly. “If we can distract them, travel somewhere--anywhere--it’ll throw them off our scent and they’ll back off.” 

“For now,” Jade says, grimacing. “We still need to find Stele.” 

The fifth and final member of their little group had always been the best of them--clever and cunning and witty, and a damn good pilot. But she was old, and just like Scythe, she’d run away to escape the impending dread of her final regenerations. 

She was afraid of dying. 

Jade had never held such reservations--but that, she knows, is the dichotomy of being a newer Time Lord. 

Motivations and cowardice--her head aches as she dwells on the tipping point between memory and void. To the task at hand--

“We need somewhere to go,” she tells Ember, “somewhere we can hide.” 

Ember nods. “Somewhere fun,” she says, and at her side, Sage’s eyes light up. 

“D’you know where I’ve never been?” she asks, nearly quivering with excitement. 

Jade can’t help but smile. “Where?” 

“America,” Sage says, “colonial era, just after the Revolutionary War.” 

“ _ After  _ the war?” Ember frowns. “All the exciting stuff happens during the middle.”

“Exciting,” Scythe repeats, expression turning sour, unamused. “People died, Ember.” 

Ember winces. “Well...yes, but--”

“After the war it is,” Jade says, starting toward the console. 

Scythe barks out a laugh. “Are  _ you  _ going to fly us there?” 

“I--” Memories, memories--she searches inside herself and comes up with nothing but the sad, bitter conclusion that after centuries of life and a decade of human existence, she  _ still  _ has no idea how to fly a TARDIS. She winces. “No. Have at it.” 

“Indeed.” Scythe shares a smile with Ember, and together--without a single word of argument--they start the ship forward in tandem.

Jade wanders toward her bedroom, sufficiently embarrassed, and shuts the hall door behind her. 

She can still hear Scythe and Ember laughing at her as she heads down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave a kudos/comment if ya can!!


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